


Like Father, Like Daughter

by MizJoely



Series: I Wish You Would Write... [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parentlock, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thestarlightdreamer said: I wish you would write a fan fiction where Sherlock uses his deduction skills to absolutely terrify the boys that his eldest daughter (one of the twins; boy and girl-just a head canon of mine), who is just as brilliant and snarky as her father (also inherited his gorgeous black locks), yet she knows how to bide her time, like her mom, and she uses this skill to come up with the perfect way to get back at Sherlock because this time around, the guy she is dating is way perfect; he needs to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Father, Like Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> I took a few liberties with the prompt but the gist is the same. Also I altered Samantha Watson to Rosie Watson because why not? :)

“Mum, I swear to God and John Hamish Watson, if he does it again, I’m going to kill him. You just watch me.”

Molly Hooper continued to calmly slice up vegetables, paying no mind to either her daughter’s agitated pacing or her homicidal – patricidal, in this particular case – threats. “From what you’ve told me about Tony, luv, there won’t be anything for your father to deduce. Nothing detrimental, anyway.” She gave Lucy a warm smile. “Didn’t you say you’d already deduced everything worth knowing about him?”

“Doesn’t mean Dad won’t try to find something,” her daughter said darkly, reaching out to snag a freshly-sliced carrot from the cutting board. She popped it in her mouth and crunched it loudly, still brooding on her father’s potentially embarrassing deductions of her newest boyfriend. “He goes out of his way to do it, you know he does,” she continued once the carrot had been fully ingested. “He does it to Rosie, too, at least he used to before she married Ricky.”

Rosamund 'Rosie' Watson (now Lestrade) had, indeed, suffered under exactly the same sort of cock-blocking (Lucy’s words, not Molly’s!) scrutiny as Sherlock’s own daughter. “To be fair,” Molly felt constrained to point out as she dumped the vegetables into the stew pot, “he did it to all of Davey’s boyfriends as well. But he gets along tolerably well with Lucas now that they’ve been together for six months.”

“That’s because Lucas is a sweetheart; nobody in their right mind could dislike him for more than five minutes, not even Dad,” Lucy shot back. Which was true; Lucas was the nicest person Molly had ever met, bar none. Not a simpering softy, as Sherlock had grumblingly described him after their first meeting; no one without a backbone of solid steel could last for more than a week after full immersion in the Hooper-Holmes household. But definitely a sweetheart.

Even Sherlock had been forced to admit it…or at least, to admit he had no objections to the young man. Davey had counted that as a major victory.

The sound of heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs alerted Molly and Lucy to the imminent arrival of the _pater familias_ himself. “Don’t just attack him as soon as he sets foot inside the flat,” Molly admonished her daughter without turning around. “Give him some time to settle in first.”

She didn’t need to hear Lucy’s disdainful snort to know just how well _that_ bit of advice had been received.

Sure enough, Lucy immediately stormed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. Molly sighed and shook her head; father and daughter were just too much alike for their own good. If they didn’t love each so much, they would probably have killed one another long before the twins made it to their 20th birthday. Which, come to think of it, was still two weeks in the future, giving them plenty of time to rectify that situation.

With another sigh, Molly covered the stew pot, wiped her hands on the towel, and headed for the sitting room in case either a referee or medic was needed.

She was greeted by a familiar sight: Lucy seated cross-legged on the sofa, Sherlock plopped into his comfortable leather armchair, each with their hands in a prayer pose, fingertips resting on identical bottom lips, eyes locked on one another.

At least they weren’t shouting. Yet.

“He’s perfect, Dad.” Lucy was the first to break the silence, always the more impatient of the two.

“Define ‘perfect’,” her father shot back, raising one eyebrow skeptically, a move calculated to infuriate Lucy and thus divert her into an emotional outburst.

Miraculously, she ignored the slight-but-provocative movement and focused on his words instead. “Tony is intelligent, taller than me by a good fifteen centimeters, captain of his rugby team and a chemistry major. Furthermore, he’s never done drugs, gotten a permanent tattoo, or got so drunk he peed in a wardrobe.”

“Chemistry major,” Sherlock repeated musingly, ignoring the jibes about his own less-than-salacious past (although how Lucy had discovered the existence of his tattoo was a question Molly was keen to discover). He’d winced at the ‘rugby captain’ portion of her description, but clearly something about the fact that the new boyfriend shared his educational background disturbed him; Molly recognized that tone of voice. She stepped a bit further into the room to offer Lucy silent support, but was pleased to see it might not be necessary this time.

“Never done drugs,” Lucy reminded him. “No ‘freelance chemist’ in his job description. And you know I’d know if he was lying about it.” After learning how close Sherlock had come to losing his life because of drugs before they’d been born, both of his children had developed a zero-tolerance policy when it came to such things, even the legal kind. The only exception was their beloved Nana Hudson, who at just past 90 still indulged in her ‘herbal soothers’, as she persisted in calling them, even though marijuana had been legalized when the twins were in their early teens.

“Rugby?” He raised his eyebrow again, and this time Lucy’s twitched in annoyance.

“He’s very fit,” was all she said.

“Chemistry.” Sherlock frowned as he circled back to what would appear to be the major sticking point.

“With excellent marks,” Lucy said. She’d dropped her hands to her lap, a sure sign that she was nervous but trying not to show it. “He’s actually a bit brilliant. Might even be smarter than you in that particular area.”

The frown deepened into a scowl. “I’ll be the judge of that,” her father said tartly. “Bring him round for dinner tomorrow. If he can make it through an entire meal with just you, me and your mother…”

Molly cleared her throat. Loudly. Gave her husband a warning look.

He sighed. “Fine, bring him round for dinner so your mother and I can meet him,” he corrected himself grudgingly. “But if I find he’s managed to fool you about even a single aspect of his personality – I assume he’s _nice_?” he asked with a definite sneer.

Lucy’s smile, so like her father’s at his most delighted, was positively scintillating. “Oh, I never said he was _nice_ , Dad. He’s impatient and socially awkward and doesn’t have a lot of friends. The first time we met he made a rude comment about my height. Then I made a rude comment back about his atrocious clothing style, we got into it a bit, and that’s when I knew. I asked him out for coffee first thing, only he thought I was taking his coffee order – to be fair,” she added without taking a breath, “I was working my shift at the café, so I can see where the confusion set in. But I soon set him straight, and now…I know he’s the one.” The soft, wistful smile she wore morphed into a scowl as she focused on her father again. “So go easy on him tomorrow night, or else.”

Both eyebrows raised at that little threat. “Or else what?”

“Or else you won’t be invited to the wedding,” Lucy declared, unfurling her legs and jumping to her feet. She grinned and practically danced over to her father’s chair, dropping a kiss on his forehead before heading for the front door. “I’ll be back for dinner, Mum,” she called over her shoulder. “Gotta go meet up with Rosie, laters!”

Sherlock stared at her retreating form, then looked over at his wife. “What just happened?”

Molly gave him a fond smile as she walked over and perched on the arm of his chair. His arm slipped around her waist as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Your daughter just met her Sherlock Holmes, dear. So unless you can deduce that he’s either an axe murderer or an undercover member of the press tomorrow, I’d advise you to keep your thoughts on him to yourself till after the two of them have left. Then you can rant about him to me to your heart’s content.”

“I won’t like him,” Sherlock grumbled. “Especially if he’s anything like me, which I resent your implications, by the way. Lucy deserves someone much better than anyone like me.”

Before Molly could make her usual objections to him feeling he wasn’t good enough for her, he pulled her down into his lap and kissed her. She giggled and kissed him back, twining her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to like him, Sherlock. You just have to be civil. After all, just because Lucy thinks he’s ‘the one’ right now doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind!”

Two years later saw Sherlock Holmes walking Lucy down the aisle, a nervously smiling Tony Haversham waiting at the altar for her. He’d weathered that initial interrogation, been found not exactly perfect but hardly imperfect enough to warrant being given the boot, and had proven himself more than worthy of becoming her husband.

Most importantly Lucy loved him, and for that, any number of (boringly minor) sins could be – and had been – forgiven.

 


End file.
